


Practice Wings

by mimosaeyes



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/F, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 15:37:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13484553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimosaeyes/pseuds/mimosaeyes
Summary: Lila finds herself seated next to a little old lady with a fear of flying.Included inUp to the Test, a digital charity zine for international disaster relief.





	Practice Wings

When the announcement for her boarding group comes crackling over the speakers, Lila stops fiddling with her fox pendant and gets up to join the line. Her small carry-on luggage rolls smoothly alongside her, its wheels silent in the mostly deserted departure hall. 

What seems to echo instead, at least in her head, are Ladybug’s words. _“_ _You’re not a superhero. You’re another one of Hawkmoth’s akumatised victims!_ ” Although at the time her retort came easily (daughter of two diplomats, remember), ever since then Lila has wondered about Ladybug’s judgement of her.

Not that she’s contrite; oh, no. She oscillates between bristling at the memory of being so utterly put down, and feeling irritated at herself for getting called out on a lie. 

Well-used to flying, as she nears the front of the line Lila automatically readies her boarding pass and passport. As she resumes idly playing with the fox pendant around her neck, her expression grows sulky. It was hardly even a lie, after all. Over the years Lila has honed her skill in, ahem, embellishing the truth at every new school her parents enroll her in after uprooting the family yet again for the sake of their careers.

Never again will she find herself eating lunch alone because everyone else is already too comfortable in their cliques to bother getting to know the new girl. Never again will she be made to feel uninteresting when a classmate taps her on the shoulder only to get her to pass along a note to their actual friend.

Lila Rossi can use words to make herself anything she wants to be. Of course she can be a hero.

Other passengers stream in after she has already efficiently stowed her carry-on luggage in an overhead compartment and settled into her window seat. She is flicking through the in-flight movies when an elderly lady, her hair white, her gait slightly unsteady, stops in the aisle and then sits in the seat beside her.

The lady offers Lila a tentative smile that deepens the crow’s feet around her eyes. Lila flashes her a quick smile in return and turns back to her screen.

They’re going to be stuck in this tin bird together for a good few hours. She may as well be civil.

It’s all routine to her by now, but evidently not to her fellow traveller, who stares around the cabin in apparent wonderment and buckles her seatbelt — after some struggle — long before they have to. In her peripheral vision Lila eyes the loosely fastened seatbelt and contemplates helping her tighten it properly. Eventually, she just catches a flight stewardess’s attention and tilts her head ever so slightly to indicate the lady sitting beside her.

There.

Surely that’s all she’s obligated to do.

Yet Lila can’t help wincing sympathetically as the plane begins to taxi and pick up speed. The roaring of the wheels and the sound of the rushing wind outside fills the whole cabin. Observing the way the passenger next to her clutches at the armrest between them, Lila finds herself suddenly aware of how frightening flying can be for someone new to its noises, its motions. 

The armrest remains in a vice-like grip until long after they’ve stopped climbing and are cruising at a constant altitude. Not that Lila particularly notices. Or cares.

At some point she gets comfy enough to doze lightly, rousing herself periodically to hydrate and squeeze past the elderly lady (who remains steadfastly awake, although she looks more at ease) and stroll up and down the aisle, whenever the seatbelt sign overhead blinks off.

When Lila returns from another such trip and sinks back into her seat, after several hours of silence, the lady next to her suddenly pipes up.

“Why do you walk around like that?”

Now, Spanish and Italian are close enough that she can get by, so Lila hesitates only briefly before replying, “It helps with the pressure. Otherwise your legs might get blood clots.”

Her companion looks dismayed. “Should I have been doing it too, then? It looks quite tiring.”

For the life of her she can’t understand why she’s so quick to offer helpful tips. “Oh, you could also just stand up and massage your calves. Or some people buy special socks.” She pauses. “Is this your first time flying?” 

That gets her a laugh, warm and golden like honey. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well…” Lila hesitates, and she must look stricken, because the other woman pats her arm in reassurance. 

“My name is Soledad,” she says by way of introduction. “And yes, it is my first time on a plane.” 

Said plane picks just that moment to lurch alarmingly.

Lila watches quietly as Soledad takes a few steadying breaths, her fear making her all but forget that they were in the middle of a conversation.

Finally she reaches out to the armrest between them and covers Soledad’s hand. She waits for her to meet her gaze, then carefully enunciates in (mostly) Spanish, “Hey, it’s perfectly normal. You’re fine. We’re seated just in front of the wings, too; that’s the safest place.”

Soledad somewhat resembles a startled rabbit, wide-eyed and alert to some unnameable danger in its environment. “I thought seats nearer the front of the plane have the _lowest_ survival rate,” she says, her voice quavering and faintly suspicious.

Of all the times for Lila’s, uh, hedging-the-truth skills to fail her. Switching back to Italian, she stammers, “Well, that’s… Every crash is different, it sort of depends…”

She trails off as the plane suddenly drops and even she feels like she’s left her stomach behind. Soledad’s face goes ashen.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re doing this?” Lila asks, in a rather strained attempt at distraction. “All your life and you only now decide to fly abroad. Must be for something special.”

Almost at once Soledad’s expression softens, ever so slightly. “Some _one_ special, actually,” she answers, the corner of her lip twitching into a tentative smile. “She’s waiting for me in Paris.”

She pronounces ‘Paris’ in almost a trill, exaggerating the French pronunciation to the point of ridiculousness. Then she giggles, and Lila can’t help but smile in bemusement seeing how Soledad seems momentarily transformed into a young, besotted girl. The years seem to fall away from her wizened features as she laughs at herself.

“I’m such a helpless romantic,” Soledad sighs, though not heavily. “But I’m old now, and I deserve to be what I am.”

There isn’t really an answer to that kind of sincerity, at least not in Lila’s vocabulary. She stays respectfully quiet instead, giving Soledad’s hand a sympathetic squeeze whenever the plane gives a jolt or sudden drop.

By the time the seatbelt sign has blinked off again, Soledad has actually been lulled to sleep. Lila reaches past her and, hesitating only a moment, unfolds the blanket over her. For a moment she flashes back to just a few years earlier, standing by her own grandmother’s sick-bed and tucking her in before retreating to a nearby chair to stand vigil over her. It’s been some time since she’s last been reminded of connections like that — people you would catch the earliest flight to be beside.

_These things are real_ , Lila Rossi thinks, insensibly, drowsily, just before she drifts into sleep.

Her hair is mussed when she wakes up to the sound of their pilot announcing their imminent arrival. She ties a ponytail while Soledad stirs beside her.

They walk out of the plane together, Soledad accepting her arm gratefully. As her travel documents get checked over again at border control, Lila glances overhead at a TV screen. Nadja Chamack appears to be standing on the street reporting on yet another victory for Ladybug and Chat Noir over the latest akumatised villain. Exclusive footage shot from an excellent vantage point by one Alya Césaire, amateur reporter, depicts the two superheroes swinging into action.

“They’re so brave, don’t you think?” says the airline staff checking her passport, all but sighing dreamily. “They’re my heroes.”

In the distance Lila can see Soledad with the luggage she has collected, drifting into the arrival hall. A nervous looking woman in a wheelchair, her hair just beginning to sable, approaches her from behind and taps at her elbow hesitantly. Lila thinks she sees her say Soledad’s name. 

“There’s bravery everywhere,” Lila replies belatedly, her voice slow and heavy with thought.

Soledad is turning around and embracing the other woman. Lila accepts back her passport and moves through the turnstiles to collect her luggage.

The last she sees of them, Soledad is pushing her wheelchair, and they are holding hands even though they get stares — for various reasons.

Lila stands watching the footage repeat, of these costumed superheroes who get to be on television. And she murmurs, just to herself, not to anyone else she needs to impress or endear, one totally true thing: “There are heroes everywhere.”

It makes her smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I am happy and honoured to be part of this charity effort.
> 
> The woman for whom Soledad has gone to Paris is, in my head at least, the same one referenced in [my piece](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9363656) for [A Little Light Zine](http://a-little-light-zine.tumblr.com/about). It’s just a couple of throwaway lines in the third paragraph, but since the same lovely organisers invited me to contribute to this zine, I figured it’d be fun to work in that tiny bit of continuity; albeit while taking some liberties with her exact age.


End file.
